Work Text:
Harry was about two moans away from moving out of his own place.
When Hermione had shown up on his doorstep a month ago in the middle of the night and told him she and Malfoy were together, he'd laughed so hard he cried. When she'd told him Malfoy had been disowned and now they needed a place to stay, he'd asked if she was trying to fill Fred's shoes in the comedic department. When she'd stepped to the side and pulled into view a very reluctant Malfoy, he'd told her this wasn't a funny joke anymore and the Imperious Curse was not to be used for pranks. When she'd thrust Draco's inheritance-ring-free hand in his face, he'd fainted.
By the time he came to, Hermione and Malfoy had taken up residence in one of the spare bedrooms in his flat.
Somehow, he and Malfoy hadn't killed each other yet. That somehow had a lot to do with the fact that Malfoy was never alone. Like, ever. He was constantly at Hermione's side, caressing her hips or kissing her neck, total PDA right in front of him. Harry would have thought he was simply trying to piss him off if Malfoy happened to even be aware Harry was in the room, but as it was, all he seemed to be aware of was his… Harry grimaced… girlfriend. Hermione was quite responsive to his touches, and in those moments, she too seemed to forget her best friend's existence.
If it wasn't bad enough Harry had to see the two being all mushy and disgusting during the day, he heard them at night. He now knew more about what his best friend and arch nemesis liked in bed than he had ever desired to know. It didn't even matter if a silencing charm was cast; those two could not be quieted. It was repulsive.
"Oh!" Hermione gasped then keened, "Oh, yes, right there!"
Harry made a face and smashed his pillows even harder against his ears. Seriously? Had Hermione/Malfoy really needed to choose the room right next to his? The walls in this place were much too thin. He would have Flooed Ron, but somehow he doubted his ginger pal felt like hearing about his ex and the ferret doing it. And more than that, he wouldn't wish this on anyone.
"Unghh, Draco…"
Harry squeezed his eyes shut. You have work in the morning, he chanted to himself. You have work in the morning, you have work in the morning, you have—
"Fuck, Granger, you're so tight!"
Alright. That was enough.
Harry climbed out of bed, threw on his robe, and stormed downstairs. He was going to have words with Lucius Malfoy. He didn't know if he planned on demanding the man un-disown his son, or that he give his ex-heir some money so he could get his own fucking place for Hermione and himself, or what. At this point, he didn't give a damn what was said. He couldn't live like this anymore!
When he reached his fireplace, he Flooed to Malfoy Manor and found himself in the family's pristine sitting room in the blink of an eye. Lucius and Narcissa were sitting on one of the couches, doing some reading before bed. Narcissa gasped at the surprise guest, but before she could speak, Harry broke down.
"Please take him back!" he cried, clasping his hands and appealing to Lucius. "Please! I know you're not happy he's dating a Muggleborn, but I promise it is much harder on me than you! He's always touching her in front of me, and thanks to their—," his face darkened, "nighttime activities, I have enough nightmare material to last a lifetime! I dealt with the Dark Lord for seven years and had less issues than I do now! So please, even if you don't want him back in your prejudiced family, please just give him a few thousand galleons so he can buy his own flat and I never have to see or hear about their sex life ever again!"
Lucius and Narcissa only exchanged an amused look.
In the far corner of the room, where it was so dark Harry hadn't even noticed his presence, Blaise Zabini raised his tea cup and said, "Welcome to the club."